Dubai Diary 11 - Desert Safari

Another must-do in Dubai. A rocking experience if ever there is one. It is an evening programme and there is a van pick up to a point on a highway outside Dubai, where we are transferred to Land Cruisers. Rugged vehicles on special spiked wheels suited for running on sand, these are roomy and comfortable and can easily seat eight people.

 I wondered why we were all asked to strap on seat belts and hold on to the grab bars that were all over the cars - till the cars started.  When they zoomed off with a loud vroom and flew over the roadless sands of the desert, splaying sand on all sides, I swallowed my question and concentrated on keeping my rattling and wobbling body organs in their rightful places.

It is an exciting sight to see a fleet of Land Cruisers zipping off to a glorious start and flying wildly in the desert with the sands shimmering in the evening sun – provided you are not in one of the cars yourself.  Inside there, you feel like a jellyfish that has been swallowed live by a fully soused whale turning somersaults in the ocean.

Our drivers – as rugged as the cars – took on sand dunes face on, steering their cars up near right angle slopes and scrambling down again at the most impossible angles, and shamelessly trying to outdo each other’s daredevilry, while inside, we all got a royal shake up. 

But I must say living on the edge is thrilling as long as it lasts just 20 min or so. I enjoyed this sport they called dune bashing.

The camp was of course a typical Arab camp with a wooden hut-like structure surrounding a vast open area with a central stage. Around the stage were low tables and divans for seating guests. 

Here's Sudhakar outside the camp

As long as there was sunlight, we could do a couple of rounds on camels. It was an awesome experience, specially when the camel gets up and sits down, the rider shoots forward abruptly and may almost lose balance.

Elsewhere in little rooms built around the central stage there were areas where we could have henna done on our palms, watch a sand artist at work, hold a falcon on our shoulder [for a small price], buy odds and ends in a stall, get ourselves a soft drink or coffee, or just find more conventional sofas and chairs to laze in.

Sand art is basically these glass bottles filled with layers of colourful sand which is moved and arranged subtly to form scenes. The bottle is sealed after it is done.

A look at the camp from the vantage view offered in the upper stands.

The sun setting over the desert was a beautiful sight, with a many-hued glow suffusing the scene.

Sudhakar with a falcon on his shoulder. Look at the big cold eye of the falcon! The heads of these falcons are covered with a hood which blinkers them and ensures that they don't fly away. The hood is removed only when they are seated on someone's arm or shoulder and quickly put back in a trice. It is sad to see these huge majestic birds with their activity clipped like this.

One of the land cruisers - waiting for the party to end

You could do your own thing for the most part and the organized entertainment came just before dinner with a belly dancer shaking away to glory and after dinner, a young male sufi dervish dancer twirling frenziedly on his toes.

The sufi dance was super though in the darkness I couldn’t video record much of it. Food was mostly veg with some kebabs for the non-veggies, and not bad, though nothing to write home about.

A good evening’s programme for those looking for a heady mix of colour and culture, in a show that interestingly blended pre-Islamic nomadic culture and current Arab culture.

Dubai Diary 10 - Global Village

The Global Village is a huge international roaming exhibition – it comes to Delhi too every year, I’m told. We Chennaiites haven’t yet had the privilege of hosting it yet.

It is a gigantic mela where the Ferris Wheel, roundabouts and rides jostle with cotton candy, balloons, kebabs, corn cobs and sweet corn and bright plastic illuminated articles that squeak and make the weirdest noises on one side; and on the other, pavilions put up by different countries showcase products – both modern and traditional – and culture. Stalls selling objet d’arts, textiles, spice bazaars, perfumeries, besides food stalls and a stage showcasing dances and music are the many faced offerings from each country.

In Dubai, Global Village is open for six months a year [from November through March] though apparently it is at its most vibrant during the Dubai Shopping Festival season in January-February. A point-to-point bus service from Al Ghubaiba makes it very convenient to visit.

The Global Village we saw now in November could be more aptly called the Asian Village. We saw almost every Asian country from Palestine and Lebanon to Vietnam and Thailand exhibiting their products and their culture. But the rest of the world is pretty poorly represented – at least right now. Europe has a pavilion which is pretty unimpressive. Spain has a separate pavilion, outside of Europe. Australia and the Americas could well have been on Jupiter – they weren't here, at any rate.

Africa has a pulsating pavilion – easily one of the most riveting. But I actually felt very sad there, because my mind went back to all those millions of malnourished, starving children in sub-Saharan Africa, and I saw that we were straddling two starkly different worlds - worlds unrelated to each other...

These two boys sell Tamarihind juice - the second chap is from Syria and the first from Tunisia or some such place - I'm not sure. On our first visit, we bought a glass of tamarihind juice. It cost us all of 10 dirhams - for a glass of sweetened imli paani! Tamarihind is nothing but tamarind [the name itself is a unique indicator - tamar-i-hind means the 'dates-of-India'] Apparently fresh raw tamarind juice is a cheap and common enough drink in Syria, a passing Syrian gentleman informed us, only it was ridiculously priced at the fair. 

Note the contraption that the boys are wearing. There is a jug strapped to the belt hanging at the back, and it is a great big jug that runs across his body and ends in a decorated spout at the top that peeps over his shoulder. In front the belt has holders for cups and when you ask the boy for a cuppa, he pulls out a cup from his waist, and bends double for the spout to reach the cup and the juice to pour out. And give him the money and he will remove his colourful cap and place the money on his head, and cover it again! 

The Syrian boy in the second picture is actually a great showman and drew quite a crowd by his antics and friendly body language. In this picture he is sulking because I meanly told him - "no juice, only photo." We had already tried his juice on our last visit but he of course didn't remember it.

Here's a dance by a Syrian troupe. Again look closely at their dresses, and gait - our Hindi movies and Amar Chitra Kathas were not bad in their pictorial depiction, right?

A couple of shots of the Global Village by night:

We loved the Global Village so much we went twice. Just wandered around, soaking in the culture of different countries, and marvelling at the subtle changes in colour, contours, tastes and smells from country to neighbouring country. It is not just a feast for the senses, but a great lesson in geography – in fact, a greater lesson in history and geography cannot be taught. There is also a central court where troupes from different countries put up cultural shows and run workshops behind the scene for those interested in learning their arts. A wonderful experience and a must-do project for students in UAE. A great learning opportunity besides beings a truly fun place with something for everyone – culture, shopping, food, lessons, business networking, or just a stroll with the family or a gentle boat ride across mildly rippling waters, or just straight forward rollicking fun...you name it and Global Village has it. Also a good opportunity for peoples to come together, explore and understand each other, identify likenesses, appreciate differences and build respect and kinship.

Dubai Diary 9 - Bhurj Khalifa

Bhurj Khalifa is said the tallest standing man-made structure in the world today at 848 m. It is a huge towerlike structure which is 210 storeys high though not all if it is complete. The tip of the Bhurj's spire can be seen a good 95 km away, they say. There's a lot of statistics - pretty impressive - presented all along the corridors that lead one into the structure. As we approach the Bhurj from the road, there is a good photo opportunity spot. One can stand at an angle from the Bhurj and hold out one's palm and have a photo taken and it will look as though one is holding the tower in one's palm. We tried it - I am just a poor amateur photographer and this is all I could muster:

They say it will house offices, residences, hotels and malls when it is ready, though my head swims at the thought of living at that height, so far away from the comforting security of the ground. One can go up to the 124th floor and take a look at the world around through a telescope or just look out of the glass enclosures. The elevator that takes you up there to the 124th floor does so in a flash even before you can say 'Bhurj Khalifa.' It is supposed to be the world's longest elevator run in the world and in the minute or less that it takes to go up, one just does not feel any discomfort or pressure [though my ears got blocked for all of a minute both while ascending and descending.] And right there at the top is this little souvenir shop that sells you keychains, models, pens, and merchandise - they sure know how to cash in, out here. The Bhurj is worth visiting, though if you are not taking a tour, or going by car, then finding the office within Dubai Mall is quite a wretched pain. There are signboards everywhere all right, but they all assume that visitors to the Bhurj will travel by car, so Sudhakar and I [who took the Metro from home] got mighty exasperated wandering all over the basement parking of the Dubai Mall, following signboards that finally led to the Mall entrance. Grrrr..r! Everyone we asked outside the Mall - some Mall staff, security - told us to follow signboards and take the basement - and led us on a jolly wild goose chase.

Apparently Bhurj began as an ambitious project undertaken by the Sheikh of Dubai. But with construction in progress, Dubai fell into bad times and had the project ran into financial trouble. The ruler of Abu Dhabi baled out the project and took over the financial burden of its construction and the Bhurj dream turned real.

Which is why Bhurj was named bhurj Khalifa after the Khalif of Abu Dhabi and not Bhurj Dubai as it was originally slated to be. 

And finally, a breath-taking view from Bhurj top taken when the sun was setting over Dubai Creek. The big structure silhouetted over the waters of the Dubai Creek is not some super mammoth yacht or ship, but the Dubai Marina - a seven -or eight - or even seventeen - I dont know - star hotel built in the waters. Here in Dubai, the rich can live out their wildest fantasies.

Dubai Diary 8 - Mushkil Nai

A mention of Fujairah would be incomplete without remembering the Pakistani taxi driver who drove us around. Businesslike, he drove a hard bargain and fleeced us, I am sure. We must have paid double what it should take. We could only chip off 20 dirhams from the price he originally quoted. But in the final analysis, both Sudhakar and I felt it had not mattered.

Sahil not only drove us around the little town but also went out of his way to be helpful. When I requested that he take me for some local shopping, he readily obliged with a ‘Mushkil Nai’ – a phrase I was to here many times that day [and on other days from other people – hospitality and a readiness to go out of the way to oblige is quite a trait of character here]. Not only that, he also came along to haggle with the Pathani shopkeepers and get us good prices. He volunteered to take us past Fujairah to the neighbouring town of Khor Fukkan where, he said, the beach was better.

Soon we got talking.

Driving down some very elegant residential quarters, he explained that those were local people’s quarters and that the sheikh of Fujairah subsidized 50% of cost of the house of all natives.

When we remarked on the elegance of the houses and the town, he opened up.
‘Yeh banaayi hui khubsoorti hai,” he remarked. “Come to my village in Pakistan to see real natural beauty.” He said he hailed from a village in the beautiful Swat valley in the Pakistan-Afghan border. “Well, if you miss it so much, why did you come here?” I asked.

“Pakistan is beautiful,” he said, almost poetically. “Lekin Pakistan may aman nahi hai. We cannot earn in peace there. We come out so that our families can live.”

“If there is no aman in Pakistan, why do you leave your family there?” I persisted.

“They are safe where they are – the Swat valley is safe, far away from the unpeaceful conditions. Only there are few avenues to earn well there.” He said. “I go once every year to spend time with my family. I have been here on a work visa for more than 9 years now.”

“Have you heard of Swat? It is very beautiful, like Switzerland.” We could sense the pride and wistfulness. I remembered Rabindranath Tagore's Kabuliwala.

And then suddenly as we were returning to the bus stand to catch the bus to Dubai, he hesitantly reminisced: “Two years back I brought my biwi and my youngest sister as tourists to Dubai for a month. For twenty three days, we went around the cities in my taxi, seeing places, enjoying ourselves. Then one day we had an accident on the road. My sister – she was just ten- did not survive.”

We froze in shock and sadness, and had no words to share. I realized suddenly that we had been privileged to be taken into his confidence, to have had momentary access to the innermost recesses of his heart and memory, that it must have been very painful and very difficult for him to recount that incident, that he need not have, but felt important to share it with us, passing tourists, who would never see him again in his life. That some strange chord had been struck between us three that had opened this painful floodgate for him.

As we got off the taxi, my husband paid him exactly what he had asked for, not a cent less. We bid him good bye and eid Mubarak and left for the bus. Ten minutes later, as we waited for the bus to take off, my husband got a call. It was the taxi driver: “Did you find seats? Are you comfortable?”

I am convinced more than ever that at a people to people level, one reaches out to the other in some strange deep way that is meaningful and enriching to both, notwithstanding differences in language, age, gender, nationality, religion, political ideology or loyalties. That for some reason we have allowed these various masks we wear to come in the way of a subtler level of communication and understanding that we all possess. We have allowed the masks to take over and define who we are.

Left to themselves, people everywhere would reach out and recognise in each other’s eyes – another human being with similar likes, fears, concerns, and emotions. Mushkil Nai.

Dubai Diary 7 - Fujairah

A tiny bustling town, there really isn’t much to see in Fujairah but I loved the feel of the old unostentatious distinctly local town. Worlds apart from the glitz and glamour of Dubai, where one really can’t experience much of local culture and flavour.

We hired a taxi to take us through the little harbour town, and he charged us an abominable price, which we fought bitterly over but couldn’t chip more than 20 dirhams off. The driver knew, of course, we had just a few hours for sightseeing before we caught the bus to Dubai.

UAE was celebrating Id with a four-day holiday then and the beach at Fujairah was swarming with picnickers. The coastline is thin and rocky, and the sandy shore will not count as a beach to lovers of Chennai’s Marina, but the wide promenade and the lovely park along the shore make it a great picnic spot. It is not uncommon to see Arab families on barbeque parties by the beachside – a scene I see along Dubai’s beaches too.








the promenade and the park


The beach at the tiny town of Khor Fukkan, a short drive from Fujairah, is wider and more beautiful. Again swarming with people.



the beach at Khor Fukkan



the beach at Khor Fukkan


A sixteenth century mosque where people still pray is one of the attractions of Fujairah. Located at the base of a hill fort, the small sandstone mosque is fairly well preserved as is the rock-gypsum-sandstone fort on top. We climbed the hillock and went up the spiralling staircase of one of the sentinel towers of the fort.



the fort



Located on a hillock, the palace at Fujairah is well maintained but no longer in use, and locked [with a big Made in China lock – what else?] though tourists can clamber up to it, or potter around it and in the grounds below. Close by is the Fujairah Museum, with relics that claim to be 2500 to 3000 years old.




the palace

The Fujairah Museum housed relics of its past, mostly pots, burial urns, weapons, tools in wood, metal and ceramic, besides depicting the cultural lives of other times with elaborate life size models. Dubai museum housed in the Al Fahidi Fort and the Heritage House in Al Ras – which we were later to see - had lots more of these relics and models. Dubai Museum also claimed to be representing a 3000 year civilisation –looks like Indus Valley has a lot of competition – we have never developed our tourism potential, I realised as I wandered around the two museums.

The Fujairah Museum even had traditional Arab robes which tourists could wear and take photos in. The museums not only showcased relics but also gave a dekko into the culture and lifestyle of different periods – and though they aren’t the most vibrant of museums, they still leave you with an enriched understanding of the places.

Dubai Diary 6 - Fujairah

We didn’t expect to find any eateries suitable for vegetarians in this so-local little town , and were wondering what to do for food, when incredibly right outside the bus station we found this little joint called Saffron which said it served ‘Pure Vegetarian’ food. Wow. Would it be Indian, wouldn’t it be Indian? Would it, wouldn’t it, would it, wouldn’t it?

We debated hungrily as we crossed the road and opened its door – only to be greeted by two dark Tamil faces at the cash counter.

We grinned in relief, and might even have hugged them, had it not been for a few remaining shreds of self restraint.

They served a homely thali of rice, sambhar, rasam, kootu, poriyal, pachadi, moru, pickles, payasam and appalam. Not to forget a big ripe banana. Out there in the heartland of Arabia, to have a Madras thali!

Sudhakar of course plunged into it with his usual businesslike vigour, while I, ever the more adventurous one, ordered a veg biryani, which came with a subji, a raita, a cup of semiya payasam and a banana. Very generous, I must say. You order a veg biryani at any Indian restaurant in India and see what you get with it. A piddly raita, for the most part. No more.

Everyone out there in the restaurant was Indian and let me needlessly add, mostly Malayalis.

Dubai Diary 5 - Fujairah

Fujairah is a day’s trip from Dubai. One of the seven city states that constitute the United Arab Emirates, and an old historic harbour town, Fujairah is about 132 km from Dubai. Regular buses ply between the two states and movement is free and does not require a fresh visa, although Fujairah is another city state.

The journey is fascinating once the bus leaves Dubai with white desert sands fringing the roads on both sides. Here outside Dubai we finally actually get to see the true face of the Arabian desert.

The sand stretches away into the horizon, and is dotted with short and small bushy plants – they may be cacti, but I can’t make out from inside the bus. An occasional junction town and village make for fascinating sightseeing.



Past the halfway mark of the journey, the landscape changes dramatically from desert to mountain. Rolling mountains line both sides of the road and extend as far as eye can see.



Just before Fujairah, right on the highway we passed the Friday Market at a town musically called Masaafi. I wished the bus would let me out to explore that dream market. It was straight out of Arabian Nights. A long row of wayside shops on both sides of the road, selling everything from fruits and vegetables – a colourful array, if ever there was one – and gleaming junk jewellery and artefacts mostly pots, jugs and jars [Omar Khayyam suddenly made a lot of sense.*]. And oh, the carpets, rugs and mats hanging in glorious display all over the carpet stalls – cherry reds and cobalt blues with intricate designs, oranges and deep greens and browns - what can I say?

If I had a camel I would load him with goodies and walk him across sea and land all the way to Chennai.

* A Book of Verses underneath the Bough,
A Jug of Wine, a Loaf of Bread--and Thou
Beside me singing in the Wilderness--
Oh, Wilderness were Paradise now!"

Dubai Diary 4 - Impressions and Observations

The palms are the commonest form of vegetation one can see on the roads. But these are not the coconut palms that we Indians are so accustomed to. These are the date palms. Shorter than coconut palms by more than a hand, they stand anywhere between 6 and 8 feet in height. With knobbly trunks and pale green needly leaves, they are not half as pretty as our coconut palms – at least not to our Indian eyes. But obviously they are the life-givers in the desert. In summer, when it is date season, local people say the dates hang in bunches or fall to the ground and may be gathered by passers by. Even on the thin beach lines of Dubai, the date palms are a prominent presence.





Just what is not possible when you have money at your command! Even the desert can be greened with money, it seems. Roadside landscaping is not new or rare to most metros. What makes it significant here in Dubai is that it has been so effectively done in the desert. Import soil, import plants, bring water for irrigation – and hey presto you have that much craved for greenery.

Carpets of grass, beds of flowering plants, hedges of bushy plants – you name it and you can find it here. Look closely down at any one of these green patches and observe it at different times of the day. You will find dozens of thin water pipes crisscrossing the bed. In some places, water drips incessantly from the pipes into the ground. In other places, feathery light fountains of water are sprinkled from points on these pipes at regular intervals to keep the plants alive and growing.

Dubai Diary 3 - Impressions and Observations

The weather has been bracing: a light breeze, some floating clouds and a warm sun soothing on the skin. November is a great time to visit Dubai. Not hot; not cold yet.

The parking spaces in Dubai are a luxury, to say the least. There are free parking spaces in every street, and free parking lots in every neighbourhood besides the parking spaces provided by apartment complexes. And besides all these there are paid parking spaces too.

The sand is everywhere. Rendered unobtrusive by human intervention, ubiquitous all the same. On the sides of roads, in unbitumined stretches, between blocks of building, the desert announces itself.

The residential apartment complexes in Dubai are almost all in brown. There are a few exceptions – I remember a light aquamarine blue, some whites and creams. But I have never seen this variety in shades of brown. Sand brown, honey brown, biscuit brown and beige, tangerine pink brown, and glowing orangish browns, mild coffee brown, graceful creamish brown...

The commercial complexes are something else. They outdo each other in height, and shape and structure – some are quite bizarre, many futuristic. And their heavily jazzed up glass frontage dazzles and glitters in the desert sun.

The desert people like shimmer, dazzle and razzmatazz – in their dress, their jewellery, the big building fronts, the decor and artefacts scream out this fascination for glitter. Maybe it has become a part of their life because of their constant exposure to the unrelenting blazing dazzle of the sun overhead. No shade but their own shadows to protect them in ages gone by.

Now juxtapose this to the simplicity of the men’s white robes and the black discreetness of the women’s, the austere plainness of mosque structures and uniform brownness of the apartment buildings and you have a striking study in contrast. Time to pore over history books to understand Arab cultural roots.

Dubai Diary 2 - The Airport and Outside

Dubai airport had my head swimming. This was my first visit. The lavishness of space and grand abandon of the decor was stunning – in fact, I would come across it again and again elsewhere in Dubai. We had to take an elevator from the first floor to the ground floor of the airport where the disembarking formalities were to be completed. The elevator was the roomiest I’ve seen so far – could easily carry 50 people at a time, I guess. And there were several of them in a row. Whew.

Why would one need to see a roaring waterfall streaming on the way down from the first floor to the ground floor? Was it to signify that the Dubai feast was beginning right at the airport? For that’s what one sees from inside the transparent elevator. I would have missed it but for a few Europeans whose cameras flashed non-stop all the way down the elevator.

One could easily get lost for days in the Dubai airport but I don’t suppose the friendly and helpful ground staff would allow that. Most of them were Asians, many Indians, who helped us through the different procedures. Interestingly the men [and the occasional woman] at the counters were locals, or nationals as they are called. The counters being the Passport Control, Immigration, Customs, Eyescan etc. So you know where the controls are, I told myself.

I haven’t seen Eyescan anywhere in India. I don’t know about the rest of the world. Here in Dubai all incoming travellers go through a scan of the iris which is imprinted instantly on their visas as identity. If I die on the roads of Dubai tomorrow, the authorities will, I suppose, scan my iris and check against their records to find out who I am. Interesting.

Some Indians queuing up with me at Eyescan thought the airport authorities are doing an eye test before sending them into the country!

Work here is slow and steady, with emphasis on slow. I must have stood in a queue at Passport Control for about an hour before my passport was stamped with the entry visa – and this with just 20 people before me. Everything is in slow motion – when they are done with one passenger and look up to wave the next to the counter, even the wave of the Arab officers in their pristine white robes is languid and slow. Reminded me of Tennyson’s Lotos Eaters. Back in India they would have polished off at least ten more entries in the time these people took for 20.

Out at last. Sudhakar had been waiting for two hours. We drove home in a taxi. I won’t mention the clean broad streets, the elegant metered taxis where no haggling is necessary or the discipline of traffic. Everyone knows that out there in the rest of the world people follow rules and maintain order and cleanliness. One day, one day, one hopes, we in India would do this too. Sigh.

After lunch which was delivered home from the Kamat restaurant nearby – we decided to start the Dubai darshan that very day. Fridays and Saturdays are weekends in Dubai and Sudhakar did not want his weekend going waste. So off we went to Deira City Centre in the evening.

Dubai Diary 1 - The Flight

Nov. 4. Early morning take off. I being me reached Chennai airport 4.5 hours in advance and checked in and all within minutes of the counters opening and then sat watching the swelling crowd around me.

On board, I got my favourite seat – a window seat - behind the left wing of the craft. Flight was good, food was lousy. Wonder why vegetarians are punished with bad food on flight. The brunch which came terribly late was what must qualify as the world’s most insipid and unappetising food ever – alu poha with – for god’s sake – some characterless chutney, two soggy puris and some black channa, bun, fruit salad and juice. The bun was the saving grace.

The last hour of the 4.5 hour flight was mind blogging. We flew over the desert. Acres and acres of it. Hundreds and thousands of unremitting acres of sand. From the altitude of the flight we saw the sands as gleaming black undulating dunes with patches of green here and there where there was probably a settlement of some sort. From that height we couldn’t make out if they were villages, towns or the glitzy cities of Arabia. But we could make out long winding water bodies snaking down here and there, and the emerald patches were always either lining them or at their very ends.

As ever, I marvelled at the inexorableness of life – given half a remote chance for survival, life forms will burst forth and hold their own, adapt themselves to however harsh conditions that are given them. But live they will. What a lesson in life. As we grew closer to Dubai and the flight dipped, I could see little tufts of green dotting the desert like pepper sprinkled on salad. Some plants, desert grass, cacti, alfalfa... I don’t know but wherever they found moisture, up they sprang, a triumph of life over aridity.